September, that forgotten time of year.
Summer's reign lies dead in August's hot fury.
Winter is but a whispered rumor of fear.
Leaves on the trees crackle and tremble
As their silent Armageddon draws near.
The nature that created now proves fatal.
Hot breath of the west wind blows like a kiss.
The yellow glory of summer takes flight
Until spring reawakens its bliss.
And we that cried tears of joy for flowers
In spring, now cry in pain at their passing
By the hand of cold time's relentless power.
And we lie restless and fitful in our glass tower,
Our own September closer with every single hour.
A contest entry
- September by Tamera.
1200 points, ended September 5, 2007, 14 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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You are right Autum is often forgotten as we go from the heat of summer to the cold of winter. It is a short season in many areas. Just like our lives as we look back on them from "in our glass tower, Our own September closer with every single hour." The last three lines of your poem are of merit and earn it's placement on the finalist list.
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Thank you for entering and good luck in the contest
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